


the happy trouble toward you

by weliveintheflicker



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Hockey, Established Relationship, M/M, Roommates, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:50:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weliveintheflicker/pseuds/weliveintheflicker
Summary: Five times Auston interrupts Zach's sleep, and the one time he doesn't.





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> So basically this is a college!AU where all the NTDP boys (with one addition to be revealed later) go to the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. I wanted to look at the Zach/Dylan relationship in a different way with this.  
>   
> This is my first time writing fic, and I hope it's cohesive. My apologies in advance if it isn't. Apologies also for any mistakes.  
>   
> The fic's title is from Emily Dickinson's _Envelope Poems_ , which I highly recommend.

_A hot mouth sucks on the skin at the base of his throat, the nip of teeth setting his nerve endings aflame. Zach digs his heels into the mattress, neck straining and hands pawing at the back flexing above him. Zach wants to plead, to beg for more and more and more, but all that comes out is a frustrated growl._

_A partially-obscured grin below the edge of Zach’s jaw, a flash of bright eyes and curly hair before that mouth is moving lower, lower –_

“Zach, wake up!” a panicked voice calls, knocking frantically upon Zach’s bedroom door.

Gasping, Zach bolts upright in bed, wrenching his neck to the side to check the time on his alarm clock. _6:36 a.m._

“The apartment had better be on fire!” Zach bellows, trying to make his voice sound as menacing as possible while simultaneously trying to shake off a raging hard-on.

“Uhh, it’s more like the opposite,” his roommate, Auston Matthews, frets.

Pulling his comforter up around his waist in case Auston decides to barge in, Zach runs a hand through his sleep-tousled hair and turns his blurry gaze skyward.

 _Why?_ Zach asks the universe. _Why me?_

“Then what is it? If you’re waking me up at six-thirty on my day off to ask for fashion advice, I swear on my signed photo of Pavel Datsyuk that you won’t see another morning,” Zach threatens. His voice cracks a little with disuse.

“You know how I like to take my showers in the morning?”

Zach barely resists the temptation to roll his eyes. “What about them?”

A hesitation, and when Auston speaks his voice is cowed. “Well, I turned on the sink to shave before I was going to take one, and now the bathroom is kind of…flooding. I think a pipe burst or something.”

 _Shit_.

Jolting out of bed, Zach hastily tugs on a pair of fraying sweatpants – it’s only later that he realizes they’re not his, and therefore way too tight – and rushes into the hallway where Auston is clothed in only a towel and anxiety.

“Did you turn the water off?” Zach demands, padding barefoot down the dim hall into the washroom.

“I tried, but the sink’s handle wouldn’t work!”

The carpet beneath Zach’s feet squelches with moisture like an oversaturated sponge as he steps into the doorway, the water seeping over the lavatory’s linoleum tiles into the surrounding area.

Zach treads into the room, his feet lacking traction on the smooth floor and causing him to lose his balance. He lands flat on his ass, water quickly going through his sweatpants and creating splotches of wetness all the way down his legs in an unflattering silhouette. His boxers quickly soak through, and Zach can’t be more fucking thrilled about this whole situation.

Rubbing his tailbone and cursing Auston’s very existence, Zach crawls on his knees to the vanity beneath the bathroom sink, fumbles for the shut-off valve at the back of the fixture.  Barely able to see with the rush of water in his face, he twists the knob violently until it can no longer be turned. Mercifully, the water stops.

“Yes, this is definitely how I wanted to spend my morning. There is truly nothing better than getting sprayed in the face by ice water after your roommate breaks the bathroom. I really do not know how I got so lucky,” Zach gripes, torso still underneath the faucet.

Gingerly, Zach retreats from his position under the sink. He stands from his perch on the tile and spins on his heel to face Auston, who’s leaning against the doorframe like life is one big joke and he’s the comedian.

Well, Zach isn’t laughing.

“That, you dumbass,” Zach seethes, reaching for the towel hanging on a hook from the bathroom door and wiping his face, “is how you turn the water off.”

He drops the towel to the floor to mop up some of the water, grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste from their place in their small medicine cabinet.

“What are you doing?” Auston asks after Zach has barreled past him into his room and slammed the door in his face.

Zach shucks off his pants with a yawn, pulls on fresh boxers and jeans. He throws on a Wolverines t-shirt for decorum's sake. 

“I’m going to brush my teeth in the kitchen sink then crash with someone who respects my sleep schedule – which, judging by this lovely encounter, you clearly don’t. I’m also going to need a shower in the near future, and clearly that’s not happening here.” The words are grumbled out as Zach opens his door, shoves the sopping sweats into Auston’s chest.

“But what about the water?” Auston whines, trailing behind Zach as he moves into the kitchen. It’s not much to look at, but it suits their purposes just fine.

Zach shrugs a shoulder. “You’re a big boy. Call the landlord. I’ll come back when the pipe’s fixed.”

“You’re seriously going to leave me here to do this all by myself? Can’t you just stay here and nap on the couch?”

Brandishing his toothbrush like a weapon, Zach levels his roommate with a gaze that would make Superman quiver. Zach might feel bad about it if he wasn’t suffering from sexual withdrawal so acute that he’s a little achy. If Auston were suffering from a serious case of blue balls, he’d be a little wolfish, too, so Zach cuts himself some slack.

“I’m going to be honest with you. I was in the middle of something…personal when you re-enacted the flood of Noah in our only bathroom,” Zach says, each word pointy with agitation. Auston grimaces in sympathy, avoiding eye contact. 

“So unless you want to help me with the problem I’m currently experiencing," Zach continues, his smile merely a baring of teeth, "you’ll call the fucking landlord yourself.” 

“I’ll get your keys,” Auston says, practically tripping over his feet in his haste to get away from his roommate and their conversation. It’s an act of mercy for them both.

“That’s what I thought,” Zach mutters, squeezing toothpaste onto his brush in a smooth motion.

Three minutes later, he’s gone.

~*~

When he was a child, Zach never used to take naps before games. As a twenty-one-year-old, he lives and dies by the pre-game snooze.

That being said, he really doesn’t appreciate his naps being interrupted.

“We overslept. We have to be at the arena in half an hour,” Auston says, throwing back Zach’s covers and nudging him none too softly with his foot.

Determining that Auston has obviously never been taught the word _boundaries_ , Zach leaps out of bed. Blood rushes in his ears in his scramble to orient himself to wakefulness.

“I could have been naked, you know,” Zach snaps, pulling on the closest pair of dress pants that he can find and yanking them up over his hips. He groans in aggravation when he realizes he’s put them on backwards and has to do it all over again.

Auston peers in from his room across the hall, raises his eyebrows with a hand on his hip. He’s wearing only his boxers and a blue button-up with lopsided tails; he’s slotted the buttons wrong.

“First, you never take pre-game naps in the nude. Second, it would be nothing I haven’t seen before even if you _had_ been naked,” Auston jibes, gesturing with an errant hand to Zach’s form.

Knowing he doesn’t have enough time to ponder what _that_ means, Zach picks a shirt out from his closet and throws it on, hoping it matches his pants in some way.

“Sounds like someone wants to drive themselves to the rink,” Zach chides, tightening a pre-tied tie over his throat.

Auston hops around while trying to put socks on before abandoning the idea and slipping his feet into black loafers. “Funny, I didn’t hear that.”

Zach ties his own dress shoes before rushing to grab his keys from their bowl on the kitchen counter and handing Auston one of his suit jackets. He keeps them in their foyer closet because he’s lazier than any high-performing athlete Zach’s ever met.

“Did I mention you look really handsome in that colour?” Auston asks, following Zach out. Zach locks the door behind them.

Zach grunts obligingly. Being the only one that both has a car and likes to drive it, Zach has a certain amount of authority in their relationship. Their college campus in Ann Arbor isn’t that large, so Auston can usually get around on foot. However, it’s particularly frosty that afternoon and Auston’s not a fan of winter driving. For self-preservation purposes on Auston’s part alone, Zach gets a lot of compliments.

They get down to the parking garage where Zach stores his SUV before Auston is tugging on his sleeve, their steps stuttering to a halt.

“What?” Zach asks through gritted teeth.

“I forgot my wallet, and I didn’t bring my key.”

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Zach mutters on a loop as they sprint back up the stairs and into their apartment. The aforementioned item is on Auston’s bedside table, in plain sight, because of course it is.

Somehow they get to the rink on time, but it’s by a fraction of a second and Zach’s pretty sure he’s got blisters on both of his heels.

“What the hell happened? You look like you got mugged on your way here,” Dylan Larkin questions as they take their places in the locker room. He hands Zach a coffee, still hot, and Zach accepts it with a glare that screams _don’t ask_.

Zach peels off his jacket, undoes his tie while Auston does the same on Dylan’s other side.

Dylan fastens his elbow pads over a black undershirt, his gaze falling down to Zach’s side. His brow furrows.

“Why are you wearing your third-date pants?” Dylan asks as he pinches the tight fabric of Zach’s grey slacks between his thumb and pointer finger. 

Auston leans around Dylan to wag his eyebrows at Zach in a way that makes him want to punch something – all toothy grins and wide eyes. “Third-date pants?”  

Zach's mouth gapes open, face burning. He cannot believe Dylan would ask that question with Auston in proximity. He had told Dylan that information in confidence, and now Auston’s going to make him regret every syllable.

“He wears them on third dates because that’s when he deems it appropriate to try to seduce someone he’s interested in. He thinks his ass looks better in them,” Dylan explains, clearly not recognizing Zach's floundering as a signal for him to stop talking. 

Auston’s cackling and Zach is thinking of all the ways that he could murder Dylan with his own hockey equipment when Dylan’s eyes catch Zach’s. It’s a look that says both too much and not enough; it’s a crackling, living thing between them. Whatever Dylan sees in Zach's gaze softens him, makes him draw into himself just a little bit. 

“They were the first ones I could find,” Zach blusters, breaking their eye contact to pull a t-shirt over his head. He’s always been awkward – that much, at least, hasn’t changed.

"Might as well use them for something," Auston chirps, his tone conveying his obliviousness to all that had passed between his friends just seconds before. Dylan chuckles, but Zach is too busy focusing on the flush on the crest of Dylan’s cheekbones to care much about the insult.

Later, while they’re taking shots on net during warm-ups, Dylan nudges Zach with his hip. It's a subtle move, nothing that would draw attention, but Zach knows it's intentional and for him alone.

 _Sorry,_ the gesture seemed to say. _That was a close call._

Unable to help himself, Zach taps Dylan's stick with his own, offers him a sliver of a smile. 

He's never been able to stay mad at Dylan. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to start by apologizing for being so incredibly late posting this. I wrote another version of this chapter, and upon rereading it I realized that I didn't like it and was forced to start over. Then school got busy and took up a lot of my time. I'm just now getting out of my classes so I am finally able to post this part. I hope the length of it partially makes up for my poor update schedule. 
> 
> There's a time skip between this chapter and the first, so it might feel a little bit different. I hope it's okay.

The journey to Pennsylvania is a smooth one, but Zach would rather be at home than on the road when he’s just written a midterm and wants to sleep for three days. However, they’re playing Penn State tomorrow and there’s nothing Zach can do about it.

He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to finish checking in, when the manager looks up from his computer with a grimace.

“It appears there was a mix-up with the hotel bookings. It looks like your room only has one king bed, not two queens,” he tells Zach, handing him the key to the room he and Auston will be sharing. “Please let me know if you need anything."

“How about a new room?” Auston snarks as they tow their suitcases toward the bank of elevators.

Zach nudges him with his elbow once they get inside. “Don’t be rude.”

When the door opens with a  _ding_ , Dylan’s waiting for them in the hallway. His clothes are a little mussed, his curls peeking out from beneath a Tigers cap. Zach doesn’t dwell on how soft he looks, how inviting. 

Dylan had slept on him the whole way, long legs splayed out and arms crossed over his chest.  His head had slipped onto Zach’s shoulder, and Zach had liked the comforting weight of it. 

It's happened before. Usually Zach thinks nothing of it. However, this time Dylan's head had fallen a little too far, leaned in a little too close. Zach's heart had clenched in an unforgiving fist, worried that Dylan was going to give them away without even trying to do so. When Dylan had pressed into the collar of Zach's shirt, trying to get comfortable, Zach had held his breath. Everyone around him had thankfully been too involved in their own creature comforts to care, but Zach had still been acutely aware of every soft puff of Dylan's breath on his neck. 

“You guys are in the room across the hall from mine. I thought I’d wait for you two to unpack then we could go grab some dinner. I’m starving,” Dylan says, turning his back on them and leading them down the corridor.

“When are you not starving?” Auston asks, ever the realist. He's wearing a striking combination of a camouflage hoodie and pale blue jeans, and whatever words could be used to describe Auston Matthews,  _understated_  is not one of them. 

“Pretty sure you ate my Timmies doughnut out of my hand once. Barely made it out with all my fingers intact,” Zach chimes in, training his stare on the back of Dylan’s head to avoid looking anywhere else. He's only partially successful.

Dylan angles his head to glare at Zach, a feeble gesture when he can’t keep himself from smiling. “You stole the last jelly-filled. You really should have seen it coming when you know they’re my favourite.”

Rolling his eyes, Zach shoves Dylan out of the way as he lingers in what Zach assumes is his doorway. Dylan steps back, leans against the wall with that arrogant tilt of his hip that he only uses when he wants to be a nuisance.

The room is predictably freezing, so Zach cranks up the heat before depositing his belongings on the only bed. Auston does the same with an aggravated  _huff_. 

Dylan follows them in because he possesses no impulse control, and his eyes practically sparkle with delight when he sees their sleeping arrangements.

“Cozy,” he jibes, draping an arm around Zach’s shoulders. Zach thinks about shrugging it off since he knows Dylan’s just being an asshole, but the weight is familiar and warm so he lets it be.

Auston knocks the brim of Dylan’s hat down over his forehead, ignoring Dylan’s squawk of protest as it presses uncomfortably on the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s go eat,” Auston says, moving around them and into the hallway.

Dylan lingers with Zach for a moment, presses closer so that his body heat streaks up Zach’s side in a soft pulse. His breath is warm against Zach’s ear, and when he speaks the words are a mumble of steam. “Good luck getting  _him_  to share his pillow with you.” 

He leaves before Zach can push him away, but the damage is done: Zach’s irritated and thinking about how very much he doesn’t want to share a bed with Auston.

 

Seven hours, a mediocre meal, and a light workout later, Zach’s clinging to his corner of the covers and Auston is breathing deeply enough to reverse the tides. His thigh is also muscling Zach to the farthest edge of the bed, and he’s had about as much success moving it as he would shifting cement blocks.

“Auston,” Zach mutters, nudging his roommate's shin with his toes. “Auston, move over. I’m going to fall off the bed. Seriously, come on.”

No response, just more bulldozer breathing.

Eyes watering with a yawn, Zach grabs his phone from the nightstand.

 _U awake?_  he texts, scrubbing his eyes with his knuckles to adjust his vision to the brightness of the screen.

The response is almost immediate.  _I am now._

Zach doesn’t have to be in the room to hear the sardonic tone behind the text.

_Want company?_

A pause that lasts three heartbeats, four.

 _Tell Auston he’s welcome anytime_. The text is punctuated by a wink emoji. 

_Where’s your roomie?_

_Gone for the night._

No further communication needed, Zach rises from the bed. Auston immediately consumes the space he’s given, sprawling out like a starfish over sand: limbs reaching, digits burrowing.

 _Ridiculous_ , Zach thinks, toeing into the washroom to swill mouthwash around his mouth before grabbing his room key and slipping out.

Dylan is waiting in the doorway for him, ankles crossed and eyes bleary. He’s not wearing a shirt with his pajama pants, and his hair is a wild mane around his face; Zach wants to sink his fingers into it and tug.

When he steps into the room and shuts the door, Dylan smirks in that slow way of those only partially awake.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dylan teases, propping his head up against the wall beside the door and squinting up at Zach. His voice is slurred with sleep, low and gravelly. 

“I have to be back in my room in seven hours,” Zach warns, lumbering toward the unmade bed probably still warm from Dylan’s body. Dylan trails him, steps slinking forward in that smooth stride that Zach admires so much. 

Before he can slip under the covers, Zach hears chuckling behind him. He turns on his heel to see Dylan smothering a smirk with the back of his hand. The bare skin of his chest is rosy with sleep and amusement. His shoulders shake with repressed laughter, and it only takes the arching of Zach's eyebrows to set him off again.  

Warmth stirs in Zach's belly as he watches Dylan giggles himself into a stomach ache.  _He's so freaking cute_. 

“I hate to say ‘I told you so’ but I –” The taunting words are barely out of Dylan’s mouth before Zach is taking his face between his hands and sealing his mouth over Dylan’s.

The kiss is sloppy with laughter, but it’s easy and it’s molten and Zach’s  _really_  missed this. 

Between school and hockey, they've barely had a moment together in the last two weeks. Zach hasn't felt this tightly wound in the five months since they started seeing each other. They've stolen time when they can, but Zach mourns the freedom they had at the beginning of the semester when nothing was due and they could make out instead of doing their readings.

Dylan breaks it off after a moment, nuzzles into Zach’s neck. His hands slip around Zach’s waist beneath the thin t-shirt Zach's wearing, pressing in with just the fingertips.

“I thought you wanted to sleep,” Dylan murmurs, a finger dancing up Zach’s spine in a motion that makes him think of anything but sleep: cold sheets against hot skin, chests rising and falling, legs tangling. 

Smiling, Zach walks himself backward until he can fall onto the bed. He tugs Dylan on top of him in a lazy sprawl. They’re a hash mark of arms and legs, elbows bumping ribs and knees bracketing hips. Dylan’s weight pressing Zach into the mattress soothes him, excites him in equal measure. He doesn’t realize how much he wants to touch, how much he wants to be touched, until he’s been deprived of it for a while and then suddenly treated to all that he can handle in a single instance. Zach doesn’t know where to start, so he simply loops a hand around Dylan’s bicep to pull him farther up his body.

“I'm easily distracted. Sue me.”  

Dylan’s smile is buried in Zach's sternum. “It has been a while, hasn't it? I feel like I haven't had more than five minutes with you all month."

"I'm a hot commodity. You should take advantage of this time while you have it." 

"Well, if you insist..." Dylan trails off as he rolls his body over, taking Zach with him so that Zach lies between his legs. Dylan's ankle slides up the back of Zach's calf, making him shiver. "But if it's all the same to you, I think you should take the lead."

Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth,  Zach twines their fingers together to pin one of Dylan's hands to the pillow above his head. Dylan raises an eyebrow, but he tightens his grip on Zach's fingers and squeezes his hips with his thighs. Zach smirks. 

"Let me show you something you might like," Zach says into Dylan's collarbone before ducking his head to demonstrate exactly what he means. 

 ~*~

“I can’t believe you got me sick,” Zach fumes, blowing his nose into a tissue with an indignant  _honk_. He drops the tissue into the mountain of them already in his trashcan.

He’s been in bed for the past hour or so, feeling weak and a little nauseated, trying to sleep but not really getting anywhere with it.

Thus, Dylan’s face crowds his phone screen, a little off-centre because he’s walking and the phone is bobbing around like crazy. He’s smiling, as per usual, and Zach hates it.

“You got yourself sick. I told you that I thought I was coming down with something, and yet you still wanted to –”

“I know the play-by-play,” Zach grumbles, his words dissolving into a coughing fit. “You didn’t have it nearly this bad, though. I get sympathy points. Now tell me about your day, since I’m bedridden and dwindling by the second.”

Dylan’s squints off into the distance, clearly focusing on something else, and Zach takes the opportunity to admire his killer profile. A truly exquisite nose, that boy has.

“I had a lab this morning, then I went to the library to work on my Psych paper, so I’ve pretty much been on campus all day. I’m heading home now. Did you need anything while I’m out?” Dylan asks, jostling his phone as he gets into his car.

Zach slides farther under his covers, turning onto his side and propping the phone up against his pillow.

“Company. Auston has abandoned me in favour of his biceps and thighs, so I’ve been by myself all day with no one to make sure I’m not wasting away,” Zach drawls, his sentence punctuated by a sneeze. 

Dylan’s turn signal clicks in the background, his phone resting on the gearshift. It’s an unflattering angle at best, but Zach doesn’t complain that Dylan isn’t hanging up on him.

“You’re not dying, you big baby. You were certainly feeling well enough last night when you kicked my ass at _COD_ ,” Dylan admonishes, making waving gestures with a hand not on the steering wheel.  _Letting someone through,_  Zach concludes. Dylan's a cautious driver - for the most part.  

“That proves nothing. You suck at it,” Zach dismisses, digging his head into his pillow until his clogged nose prevents any oxygen from entering his lungs and he has to come up for air.

“I think you need some rest,” says Dylan, “not distractions.”

“Please, just come over. I'll feel better when I’m not wallowing in my own self-pity.”

“Oh, fine. Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Bring cough drops!” Dylan hangs up on him.

 

By the time Zach hears the rattling of his front door's rusting lock, his head is pounding and his eyes burn. Nevertheless, he sits up in bed and tries to appear like he hasn’t avoided showering for the last thirty-six hours. At least he doesn't smell. 

Dylan comes in with a brown paper bag in his fist, backpack over his shoulder. A black toque is perched over his curls. He grimaces when he notices Zach's appearance.

“You look like a ghost, and a sickly one at that,” Dylan greets him, putting the paper bag on the nearest bedside table then checking Zach’s temperature with the back of his hand. His skin is cool, and Zach nudges his forehead into the touch with a sigh. Dylan keeps his hand there for a few seconds, moves it to press against his cheek before dropping his hand.

"You’re warm, but you’re not burning up,” Dylan observes. “Probably just your immune system working off whatever you’ve got.”

“What did you bring me?” Zach grumbles, reaching for Dylan’s free hand and placing it back on his face while Dylan rummages through the bag.  

“Cold medicine, your requested cough drops – the citrus ones, not the cherry ones  – and some soup from the campus food court. Chicken noodle. It’s boring, I know, but it should help.”

Zach slurps the soup, watching as Dylan cleans up the mess of tissues on his floor. “I'm clearly not feeling well if  _you_  are cleaning up after  _me_.”

Dylan doesn’t stop, just flips him off as he continues to scoop tissues into the overflowing trash bin. Zach hides his smile in the Styrofoam bowl.

“I just don’t want to step on your snotty tissues. That’s gross, man.”

Rolling his eyes, Zach puts the empty container back into the paper bag and slumps down into his covers. With a reaching hand, he swipes the bag of cough drops and unwraps a couple before popping them into his mouth. The menthol clears his sinuses almost instantly.

Dylan straightens from his hunch, perching on the side of Zach’s bed so that their thighs rest against each other. Zach likes the pressure and the extra body heat. “I’m going to assume that you’re not playing tomorrow?”

Zach begins to shake his head, feels a whirling in his temples and stops himself. “I don’t think I could even bend over to lace my skates, let alone check anybody.”

“We're going to miss you on the blue line. Big Ten match-ups aren’t easy.”

“Don’t rub it in.”

Dylan laughs, the sound full and hearty, and Zach's chest floods with warmth. Squeezing Zach’s knee, Dylan murmurs, “I’m sorry you’re suffering. Auston’s been gone all day?”

“He’s avoiding me because he's afraid of getting sick. I just wish I could fucking sleep,” Zach growls, grabbing Dylan’s hand and playing with his fingers. They slot together easily, wide palms and nimble digits. There’s a paper cut on Dylan’s pinky, and his skin is a little rough with calluses and winter, but he doesn’t know anyone whose hands he would rather hold than Dylan’s. Zach smooths his thumb over the knuckle at the base of Dylan's ring finger. “Maybe you could just –”

Dylan yanks his hand back. “Don’t even think about it.” 

“Just for an hour? You know I sleep better when you’re there. You’re a great pillow.” Even as he pleads, Zach throws back the edge of his comforter and shifts to the side to make room.

Dylan stares at the space on Zach’s pillow with narrowed eyes. He leans back toward the door as if contemplating a quick escape, shoulders rigid.

After a moment, he relents. 

“One hour,” Dylan says sternly. “Then I need to go to practice. I’ll come check on you afterward.”

Zach makes himself wait until Dylan's tucked in before he latches on, looping an arm over Dylan’s waist and burying his face in his shoulder.

Dylan’s fingers creep into Zach’s hair, nails scratching his scalp.  After a few minutes, it feels so good that Zach forgets to care about his hair being a disaster.

“Your hands are magical,” Zach mutters, voice smothered by the fabric of Dylan’s hoodie.

“I aim to please,” Dylan answers, hand moving to knead the back of Zach’s neck and between his shoulder blades. The motion incites a purr that makes Zach’s chest rumble.

“I'm demanding a massage the next time I stay over.” Zach’s eyes close as he speaks, his body becoming loose with Dylan’s body heat and talented fingers.

Dylan continues to chatter in a soft voice – something about someone he saw on campus – but Zach quickly loses the words as sleep drapes itself heavily over him. The last thing he notices is Dylan’s arm sliding around him before he’s out.

 

It seems like only a second later that a door slamming jerks Zach awake, heart pounding and muscles tense. Dylan’s still sprawled beneath him, blinking away what was undoubtedly his afternoon nap.

“Zach, you ate all my protein bars! I was starving at the gym!” a loud voice barks from the kitchen. There’s a thunderous clanking of bottles as the refrigerator opens and shuts.

“Auston,” Zach growls under his breath, rolling off of Dylan and springing out of bed. A chill runs over his skin at the abrupt change in air temperature, and there’s nothing Zach wants more than to hop back under the blankets and make camp.

"Sorry!" Zach calls to his roommate, not really paying attention to him at all. 

“How long were we out?” Zach asks, squinting at the clock beside his bed. All he can make out is a red blur. 

“Twenty minutes, maybe,” Dylan mumbles, checking his watch as he throws his legs over the side of the mattress. “Did you tell him about…?”

Zach hears the microwave whir in the other room, so he figures he only has another minute or two before they have to be platonic again.

“You’d know if I had,” Zach assures him as Dylan slides on his boots. He doesn’t miss the widening of Dylan's eyes, the disappointed downturn of his mouth that fades as soon as it appears.

Guilt drops in the pit of Zach’s stomach.

They'd told their families about their relationship at a dinner party a few weeks ago, and Dylan had made them swear to keep the information to themselves so that they could tell everyone in their own way. It had gone well; Zach's mom had asked him if she should be surprised, and Dylan's dad had hugged him like he was a member of the family. As they'd left the Larkin house, Zach had been so relieved that his knees had wobbled and he'd had to lean on Dylan for support. 

Dylan had said he would wait to tell his roommate so that Zach could tell Auston first. Zach... has yet to do that. 

It's not that he thinks Auston wouldn't be cool with it. He knows he would be. Maybe a little annoying about it at first, but fine overall.

Zach acknowledges that it's unfair to Dylan to keep postponing the inevitable - it's not like Zach doesn't know Dylan is there to stay, and Zach  _wants_  him -  but he can't make himself do it. It's selfish, but he wants what he has with Dylan to stay between him and Dylan. Zach has always been a pretty private person, and he doesn't want to let everyone put their fingerprints on what's shiny and special and  _his_. 

 _"Telling people won't change anything between us,"_ Dylan had said on his parents' front porch the evening they told everyone.  _"It just lets other people be happy about you being happy."_

 _Easy for you to say,_  Zach had almost griped. Dylan has always worn his emotions so comfortably, and Zach definitely hasn't. 

He's not afraid. He's happier now that his family is aware, and rationally Zach knows it will make him feel better to tell Auston. He's excited about not having to sneak Dylan out of his apartment the morning after he spends the night, or lie at practice about who keeps leaving hickeys on his neck.  

The miserly, possessive part of his brain just hasn't made a lot of room for rationality yet. 

He can work on it, though. He can give Dylan that. 

Dylan tilts his head up, and Zach knows it’s important to do something in that fragile moment. Taking his face between his palms, Zach longs to press a kiss to Dylan’s forehead, the tip of his nose, the point of his chin. Realizing that might be ill-advised, he settles for resting his forehead against Dylan's.  

“Soon,” Zach whispers. “I promise.”

Dylan's face softens as Zach pulls away, lips opening in a vulnerable pucker as he peers up at Zach through his long lashes. 

Their eyes meet for only a second before Dylan stands, wrapping his arms around Zach and squeezing tight. Zach simply holds on, unable to do anything but cling. 

“Only when you're ready,” Dylan says, tucking his face into Zach's neck. “I don’t mean to push you."

That’s all that Dylan can get out before Auston is stomping down the hall, lecturing Zach on common courtesy as he goes. He's crowding Zach's doorway before he can finish the speech, broad shoulders blocking most of the allotted space. He carries water in one hand and a frozen burrito in the other.

Dylan brushes by Zach as if everything were ordinary, grabbing his backpack from the floor and his hat from the nightstand. 

“See you at practice, sunshine,” Dylan chirps, patting Auston’s cheek as he pushes through the doorway.  

Zach takes a moment to appreciate Dylan being good at the dating-in-secret thing as Auston looks after him with a bewildered expression. If Zach weren’t sweating through his t-shirt, it would probably be comical. 

“What just happened?” Auston asks, brows low over his eyes and lips pursed. He's taken off his shirt since he's been home, and Zach can't take Auston seriously when his nipples are out. 

Shrugging, Zach pops a cold pill free from its plastic casing and swallows it dry. “Dylan brought me some stuff to deal with my cold. No big deal."

"Where is he going?"

 _Be nonchalant. Be nonchalant._ "He probably wanted to go home before practice." 

Auston looks like he's about to start pressing for details, so Zach fakes a yawn and only has to embellish the ensuing coughing jag a little to make Auston recoil in disgust and take a few steps back toward the relative safety of his own room. Zach takes the opportunity to make his excuses. "I'm really tired and I feel like crap, so I think I'm just going to crash. Tell the guys at practice I'm alive, will you? Coach already knows."

True to his word, Zach slides into bed, pull his blankets up to his chin. He can smell Dylan on his pillow, so he nestles deeper into the linen.

Auston's huff of annoyance is pronounced even through Zach's covers. “Fine. Go to sleep. We’re talking about this later, though. Don’t think we won’t, Zachary.”

Zach doesn’t answer him, hoping if he ignores his roommate long enough that Auston will think he's asleep and go away.

Eventually, it works. Zach waits until Auston is out of hearing range before turning onto his back, letting out a sigh deep enough that it sends him into a bout of hacking. 

 _How the hell am I going to do this?_  Zach asks himself. 

The cough medicine knocks him out before he can form any real answers. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if Zach actually has third-date pants, but it's fun to think about.


End file.
